


Queen's Gambit

by TheFeistyRogue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Could Be Considered Canon, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hogwarts, Manipulation, Marauders, Open to Interpretation, Or not, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: Bellatrix rules Slytherin as its Queen... all she needs is a King by her side, or at her feet.





	Queen's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> You may (or may not) have noticed that I've changed my username from TheRogueHuntress to TheFeistyRogue. This is because someone informed me that TheRogueHuntress sounds like the sort of name that an erotica author might use. While I've certainly branched into writing smut before, that is not what I want to be known for. Hopefully TheFeistyRogue does not have the same connotations.
> 
> Now, please enjoy Bellatrix and her psychopathic ways.

During the daytime, sunlight refracted through the Black Lake, lighting the Slytherin common room with a gloomy, green glow. Sconces, candelabra, and the roaring, year-round fire brightened the room and chased away any eerie shadows. But in the dead of night, when the fireplace was lit only by cooling embers, the room was bathed in silver and looked all the more intimidating for it.

Bellatrix Black reclined on the high-backed chair she'd claimed as her own in Fourth Year: a gaudy combination of forest green velvet upholstery and finely carved mahogany that was known at the Slytherin Throne. It took pride of place next to the fireside and had a view of every entry and exit to the common room, including the hidden passages. No one visible to the human eye could sneak up on her, not that anyone in Slytherin House dared.

While she'd not be able to get away with using the Dark Arts inside Hogwarts, Bellatrix didn't need to resort to such tools in order to inflict pain and terror upon anyone who displeased her. She was the undisputed Queen of Slytherin and had been ever since Lucretia Yaxley had graduated three years ago.

And a Queen needed a King.

If Bellatrix was the Queen of Slytherin, then the King of Gryffindor was James Potter. Unlike others that she could name in her House (Snape, Lucius, Travers), Bellatrix could appreciate the cleverness of his pranks and the wicked cruelty he applied to them. It made her shiver to think that a man lauded to be the Gryffindor Golden Boy could be so devious and vicious. While her parents might try to match her with weedy, beady-eyed Rodolphus Lestrange, of mediocre grades and little imagination, Bellatrix was going to decide her own fate.

As Potter had come into his height, his shoulders growing broader, his jaw more defined, she'd not been the only one to realise that he was handsome. He'd matured in sixth year and had been appointed Head Boy for their seventh. The girls in their year had always fluttered over him, but now, some of them were beginning to take him more seriously.

That was unacceptable. Ever since the smirk he'd sent her way when she'd pointed him in the right direction for hunting down Snape a year or so ago, Bellatrix had decided that James Potter belonged to her.

Bellatrix's first move, of course, had been to call in the favour that Michael Diggory owed her. Head of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, tall, blond haired, and blue eyed, he had needed help ensuring that his older brother, Amos, managed to get a job in the Ministry after graduating. Bellatrix had pulled a few strings—she was a Black, after all—and landed Amos a nothing job in Regulation of Magical Creatures. Michael had been so grateful that he'd even sworn an open-ended oath to Bellatrix: one favour, no questions asked.

"Seduce Lily Evans. Keep her occupied for the year," Bellatrix had instructed. It was a wrench to waste a favour on that Mudblood, but Potter had panted after Evans for years. She couldn't allow interference in her plans.

Next, she'd set Snape on Marlene McKinnon. A half-blood friend of the Mudblood, it hadn't been hard to hint to Snape that McKinnon had been whispering in Evans's ear, telling Snape's Mudblood ex-friend that she ought never to forgive Snape. Her predictable dog of a cousin, Sirius, had swooped in to save the day and offer a shoulder for McKinnon to cry on. They'd quickly fallen into each other's arms, then underclothes.

Rejected by Evans and abandoned by Sirius, Potter fell back to depending on his other two friends. One was a werewolf—easy to spot the symptoms after seven years—and the other was a snivelling excuse of a wizard.

Lupin was the obvious, more vulnerable choice to exploit, as he spent hours alone in the library. Bellatrix had sent darling, sweet Cissy to cosy up to him and learn every single one of Potter's secrets. Her sister was betrothed to Lucius Malfoy, who was pretty, rich, and vapid: in truth, Cissy's perfect match. But just because they were promised to each other didn't mean Cissy couldn't have a little fun. Bellatrix had always wondered if werewolves were feistier in the sack. Perhaps Cissy would find out.

Like a viper upon finding her prey at its weakest, Bellatrix had struck one evening when she'd known that Potter had been on patrol. It'd been late October and the air had had the chill of winter. She'd left open a door to the battlements and sat upon the balustrades, feet dangling in the open air over the castle grounds. The thrill of the risk had buzzed through her veins and she'd scooted just a little closer to the edge to feel her heart race faster. She'd worn a royal blue woollen cloak lined with ermine to keep her warm, but beneath was the greatest risk she'd ever taken: Muggle clothing. Tight leather trousers and a black shirt revealed a scandalous amount of skin that made her wonder how Muggles fought or ran in these outfits. Pursed between her lips had been a Muggle cigarette that Andromeda had taught her to smoke.

Potter had 'caught' her and she'd fluttered her lashes and said, "Join me," while offering him the cigarette. He'd sat next to her, leaning close, laughing at nothing while she'd pointed at the stars and told him silly stories about the relatives each of them their namesake. He'd kissed her, like fire on her icy skin, and Bellatrix had decided that there was nothing better than James Potter's lips on her, not the Dark Arts or a vault full of galleons or even chocolate pudding.

So Bellatrix sat, watching each entrance to Slytherin common room, late after she'd slipped Potter a note to meet her there. It was an invitation wrapped in a challenge: if he couldn't find the common room then he didn't deserve her.

She was certain that he would. Bellatrix was not a fool, nor prone to over-estimating another's character.

Still, he had yet to appear.

"Hello, Bella."

Bellatrix froze as two hands reached around from behind the chair and covered her eyes.

"Guess who?"

She bit her lip. It sounded like Potter—but how could it be?

"Lover boy," she crooned, instead. "Come here, lover boy."

Over the summer she'd snuck out to watch Dirty Dancing in a Muggle moving picture theatre. She had to give it to the Muggles—that was one thing the wizarding world had yet to imitate.

"Baby, my sweet baby," Potter sang back, for she was certain that it was Potter now. "You are too cruel to me."

"I'm Bellatrix Black, darling, I'm cruel to everyone," Bellatrix drawled. She heard the sound of fabric shifting, then Potter materialised before her, sweeping a Cloak of Invisibility off his shoulders. "My, my, that's a clever toy."

"It's a family heirloom," Potter said, tucking it into his bag. He looked as handsome as always, even with his hair unruly from the cloak, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. "What are you doing up so late after curfew, Black?" He leaned in to kiss her and Bellatrix captured his red and gold tie, drawing him closer.

"I'm waiting for my illicit, Gryffindor boy toy to ravish me."

"That can be arranged…"

A squeak disrupted them and Bellatrix shoved Potter to the floor, glancing over at the source of the noise, her wand falling into her hand. A stupid little third year had come exploring from their dorm and was standing, quivering, in the entrance to the common room. She was a Parkinson if the pug-like nose and big brown eyes were anything to judge by.

"Come here," Bellatrix commanded. The girl jumped, then started forward, as if she hadn't expected to be addressed. Bellatrix chanced a glance at Potter, who was sprawled on the floor, hands tucked behind his head as if he hadn't a care in the world, grinning up at her.

"Iris Parkinson, isn't it?" Bellatrix took the girl's hand in her own. "Hello, Iris. Ever heard of the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

"Yes!" The girl's hand was trembling. Bellatrix stroked the warm skin, soft and unblemished, before taking one finger and twisting it, forcing Parkinson to contort her body to prevent it from breaking.

"Repeat it back to me."

"Curiosity killed the cat! I'm sorry, Lady Black, I'm sorry!"

"I'll break every finger on your dominant hand if you tell a single person what you saw tonight," Bellatrix said, baring her teeth in a smile. "Do you understand?"

"I haven't seen anything!"

"Good. You're a quick learner." Quick as spellfire, Bellatrix raked her fingers along Parkinson's cheek as a reminder. She inspected the blood dripping from her nails, black in the darkness of the night, before releasing the girl. "Off you trot now, Parkinson."

The girl scuttled away, pale with fear. Bellatrix laughed, turning to Potter. He was watching her with inscrutable eyes.

"Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back," he said. "That was mean, Bella."

"Don't act like you're surprised," Bellatrix scoffed. "I'm a vindictive bitch that likes bringing pain to those beneath me. You've always known that."

Potter cocked an eyebrow and arched his back. "I'd rather like to get beneath you," he said, dodging the subject. If he were anyone else, Bellatrix would curse them where they stood, or lay, in Potter's case. Instead, she pushed all thoughts of Parkinson from her mind and watched the way Potter tilted his body toward her in an attempt to be enticing. He wasn't wholly unsuccessful.

"Come on, Bella. Put me in my place."

"You might just regret that," Bellatrix purred, standing so that she towered over him.

Potter beckoned and she sank down to sit upon his lap, a hand on his chest pinning him to the floor. He groaned, reaching for her. His eyes were closed, his eyelids fluttering, and she could feel the heat of his body through their robes. His hands clutched at her waist and he tried to pull her closer.

"Careful, Potter, or I might come to the conclusion that you like me," Bellatrix said.

Potter's eyes snapped open and he grinned, wicked.

"Whoever said I didn't, Bella? And please… call me James."

**Author's Note:**

> Dirty Dancing’s release date is actually 1987 but ehh, I'm fudging the dates because that scene is perfect for Bellatrix and James. Just type in Dirty Dancing Lover Boy Scene if you want to watch it. The song is Love Is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia.


End file.
